Life After Death
by Siriusly Loopy
Summary: Eowyn feels that the Houses of Healing have put her in the cage she so despised. But when she meets the young, despairing Steward of Gondor, her life changes and she can live again. AUish, but trying to keep to book. My first story, so please be nice.
1. Chapter 1

I disclaim all of Tolkien's characters, locations, plotlines, etc. I will try to keep to his work as much as possible, though but everything does belong to his genius mind.

A/N: This story is AU, as I switched the roles of Faramir and Éowyn in the Houses of Healing. This _is_ my first, so I would really appreciate some constructive criticism to help me along. Hope you enjoy. - Riyabryn

'Boromir!' Faramir called. He could see his brother just a short distance away. A young woman with long black hair and a very familiar older man stood next to him. They smiled sadly as he called out to them. 'Father! Mother!' They were so close. If he could just run to them, he could be with them again. He didn't deserve to live anyway. He started to walk towards his family. It was a struggle and it was painful, but he was determined.

"Faramir!"

Faramir turned around to see a man dressed in the simple garb of a Ranger, but had a strong air of kingliness. His dark hair accented his piercing grey eyes. Faramir knew instantly that this man was the lost heir to the throne of Gondor, the hope for the White City. He could not prevent that happening, which is what he would do if he lived.

"Faramir, you need to come with me." His voice was kind but commanding. But this Ranger was not Faramir's King yet. Faramir was not willing to go back to the world of the living. He did not deserve to go back. His family was waiting for him.

Faramir smiled sadly. The man held his hand out to him. Faramir shook his head. His time had come to leave the world behind.

"Your life does not have to end. You can live. Faramir… you have a second chance. Come with me. Choose life over death." Now the man seemed to be pleading with him. But his place was not among the great. He took a deep breath.

"My life was always cursed. I wish it had never begun. I was rarely shown love, and those who did give it to me are gone. I have no reason to live." His father had made sure he knew that. But he had forgiven his father, for it wasn't his fault that he was Steward during the Dark Days. He looked back to make sure his family was still there. They were, but they were fading quickly. He needed to make his decision—life and likely sadness, or death and his family.

"Faramir. You will be loved if you live. Your people already love you for who you are. I will need you by my side if I aim to take up the throne of Gondor." Faramir raised his eyebrows. He was not so easily fooled.

"You don't need the second son of a madman to rule. All you need is someone from the Council to show you around and give you his opinion. And you'd be letting down all of Gondor if you refused the crown." He smiled slyly. "Besides, 'The hands of the King are the hands of a Healer'. You have given yourself away now. The people will expect you to embrace your destiny. Gondor needs a King or she will fall into ruin."

The man sighed and drew back his hand. "I will need a friend who can be frank with me in his opinions. In addition, there may be a chance that I might not live through the last battle. Who then will take care of Gondor? It will be thrown into chaos."

Faramir frowned. He didn't have much time. "You underestimate your skill in battle. Now, let me go."

The man shook his head.

"If you stay any longer you shall kill yourself! There are others who need you more than I. You should not waste your energy on me." He took a step back.

The man's eyes filled with fear. Faramir smiled reassuringly. This was where he belonged. His body started to fade.

"Faramir! Gondor needs you! You cannot leave her or her people. You are the last of your line. There is no one else to keep it going. You _must_ live! Faramir!"

Faramir shook his head. "Who would miss me? The people will rejoice at the news of my death."

"That is not true and you know it. Please! Fight this darkness. For the city you love you _must_ stay with me!"

"I have made my choice. It is irreversible. You must leave me to my fate. Go. I will be fine. I will see my family once more." He was still smiling. A white light came from the older man's body as he was pulled back to the land of the living. Sorrow showed plainly on his face. 'Don't worry. This is but the beginning. Heal the others. Save Gondor. Bring down the Dark Lord. Become who you were meant to be; the king of Gondor.'

With that, Faramir succumbed to the darkness surrounding him. The man was blinded for a moment by a white light…

Aragorn gasped as he came back into himself. "Faramir!" he looked down at the body before him. It was still and not breathing. A smile was on his face. He seemed at peace.

Gandalf sighed softly. He had known that it would be a futile effort to try to persuade Faramir to live. He was just glad that Aragorn had made it back.

"I failed. He is gone." Aragorn was distraught. What if he lost the others that needed his help? Would he fail them as well? A hand touched his shoulder.

"There are others in need of your skills. Faramir's chances were slim to begin with. You did not fail him. The others will not be as reluctant, I am sure. Go to Éowyn. She needs you, as does Merry." Gandalf sounded weary.

Aragorn nodded. He got up and, with one last look at the man on the bed, headed off to another room.

He spotted Prince Imrahil and the Guard, Beregond, waiting for news of their Captain. He gathered his courage as they spotted him and started walking towards him.

"Aragorn, is he alive?" Imrahil asked. Only then did Aragorn remember that Faramir was Imrahil's nephew. Beregond had forfeited his life to prevent his Captain from being burned alive by his father. He had failed them as well.

"I am sorry. I lost him." Aragorn visibly saw the two men pale. He felt guilty for not being able to save the one they loved.

"No. Faramir would not have left us. He would have stayed for Gondor. To take up the Stewardship. He would not die." Imrahil didn't want to believe that Faramir was gone. Beregond was silent but a great sorrow was in his eyes.

"I am sorry. You may go in to see him if you'd like. I must tend to other patients." Imrahil walked off into the room. Beregond left as well but spared a nod in Aragorn's direction.

Aragorn sighed and went to see if he could help the Lady Éowyn and the Halfling Merry.

Imrahil stood silently just inside the door. His nephew lay, white as a sheet, on the bed. His black hair hung about his face in a painfully familiar manner. Imrahil's mother, Faramir's mother, had looked much the same when she died. The smile on both of their faces was especially hard to bear. It seemed that Faramir had willed himself to die. Imrahil hated the mere suggestion of such and tried to purge it from his mind. But it clung to his thoughts in the nasty way that the truth seemed to do.

Beregond wanted to try to comfort the Prince Imrahil, but he didn't know if it was appropriate. Instead, he walked to Faramir's side and took his hand in his own. It was icy cold to the touch. His face was fatally pale, making his dark hair stand out all the more. It was his smile, though, that brought tears to the Guard's eyes. It seemed to bring a sad sort of relief, or satisfaction. It seemed Faramir's way of saying it was his time; that he was going to a better place.

Imrahil took Faramir's other hand, trying vainly to chafe some warmth in to it.

"My Lord, it is no use. He will not wake. We were too late. It is time to let him go." Beregond was doing his best to be sympathetic.

Imrahil shook his head and started to work on Faramir's lower arm. "He is my sister's youngest son, my nephew. I have known him his entire life. I cannot just let him go. I will not yet just give up." Imrahil was now working on the upper part of Faramir's arm.

Beregond sighed inwardly. He knew that Faramir was beyond help. He trusted the dark Healer-Ranger that had tried to save his Captain. Imrahil was desperate, though, and refused to believe that the last son of his beloved sister was gone.

All of the sudden, Beregond frowned. It wasn't possible. Hadn't he just told Imrahil that? But he was _sure_ he had seen Faramir's soft smile waver, for just a moment. He looked up at Imrahil, wondering if he had seen it as well. The intense look on the older man's face told him all he needed to know.

"My Lord Imrahil! He's coming back! It must be your actions, or your words. Keep going!" Beregond winced as he realized he had just given an order to the Prince of Dol Amroth. The Prince hardly noticed, just rubbed even more vigorously.

"Stay with us Faramir, stay with us. Come back from the shadows! Do not lose hope! Faramir, please, see the light!" Imrahil pleaded with his nephew to rejoin the living.

"Captain!" Beregond cried. "My Lord Faramir, please do not leave us! You are loved, Captain, I promise! Please, do not leave us! Lord Faramir, please!"

Faramir's eyes fluttered slightly.

"Faramir? Faramir, can you hear me? Are you alive? Faramir!" Imrahil was begging with the Valar to bring the man on the bed back to him. "Faramir," he whispered, "come back."

His chest rose and fell so slightly that Beregond wasn't sure he had actually seen it. But when it rose and fell again he started to believe that there was any hope at all.

"Faramir," Imrahil breathed.

Faramir moved his head to the left slightly. His sad smile had all but disappeared.

"Beregond, try to find Aragorn. He will know what is happening."

Beregond nodded obediently and an off to find the dark man who had tried to heal his Captain. He found him coming out of a room and shutting the door gently.

"My Lord Aragorn!"

He turned around at the voice, wondering what could possibly be wrong this time. He saw the Guard who had tried to save Faramir.

"My Lord Aragorn!"

"Yes? He can't have gotten any worse, can he?" Aragorn was very tired after bringing both Éowyn and Merry back from the Black Breath, and was saying things that he normally would keep to himself.

"No. In fact, it seems he is getting better. He was—well it seemed he was dead, and then all of the sudden he started to move and breathe and we don't know what caused it. The Prince Imrahil told me to inform you as you would be the person who could know what is happening."

Aragorn stood still, his face turning pale. Faramir was still alive? How could it be; he saw the man fade into the darkness himself!

"I will come and see him." He followed the Guard to the room and there, as Beregond had stated, was a very much alive Faramir. His chest was moving up and down, albeit very slightly, and his sad smile had vanished, replaced by a pained frown. His head was slowly moving back and forth but he had not yet woken. His skin was slightly less pale than before.

Aragorn rushed to his patient's side and put his head to his chest, hearing the rapid and erratic heartbeat. He was alive, but just barely. But while he still breathed there was a chance that he could bring him back. Aragorn put his hand on Faramir's brow again and called his name.

"Faramir. Faramir, can you hear me? Are you still in shadow? Faramir!"

Faramir turned at the sound of the voice. It was the man who had come to see him before. Faramir knew that this meant he was alive, if only just. The man was coming closer, holding his hands out in welcome to him.

"Faramir. Come. Come back to us. You do not belong here. It is not yet your time. Come back with me, Faramir. Do not give in."

Faramir sighed. "I did give in. My father, bless his soul, sent me back. I am merely waiting to see the light. I am swathed in shadow and there is no light. I fear I will be stuck here, neither living nor dead, but merely in the middle, until it is my time. Do you offer another choice?"

The man nodded. "I do. I offer you light. Though you may not see it, Faramir, it is here. I can show you a way out of here. Faramir, you must come with me. Will you break the hearts of those who tried to save you again?"

Faramir hesitated. The man was speaking of his Uncle and Beregond, of course. One saved him from being cut to pieces by orcs, the other from being burned alive by his father. Now, it seemed, they mourned him, and had hope that he would come back, that he was not dead.

"Faramir, will you come back with me? Please, Faramir, choose to live."

Faramir sighed. "I don't really have a choice; you will take me with you no matter what I say."

The man smiled. "But it is all the better if you _choose_ to live. Come. Gondor needs you."

Faramir took a deep breath and took the man's outstretched hand. A bright light enveloped them both. Faramir heard a soft voice whisper in his ear, "Do me and Gondor proud, my son."

Imrahil jumped as his nephew took a large, shuddering breath. Aragorn jumped up, as if coming out of a trance.

"Faramir?" Imrahil blinked, surprised. Aragorn, frightened and hopeful, watched for the smallest indication of life in Faramir's limp body. Faramir didn't speak but he turned his head just the slightest bit.

Aragorn let out a sigh. Imrahil looked at him and just barely kept back a gasp. His skin looked sickly pale and his eyes betrayed the great weariness that must be weighing down on his soul. His shoulders slumped forward, his hands still holding on to Faramir's. His breathing sounded rattling and harsh.

"Aragorn, you must get some rest. You have saved three people from death today and look near to it yourself. Go back to your tent. Do you wish me to accompany you?"

Aragorn stood up. "Your help would be most appreciated." He nearly stumbled but Imrahil caught him and supported his weight. "Thank you." Imrahil nodded.

When they were at the camp, Aragorn turned to Imrahil. "Promise that you'll send for me when he wakes. I wish to speak with him." Imrahil hesitated. "Imrahil." He nodded and led the ashen-faced man to his bed.

Imrahil knew that he _should_ be with Aragorn, in the Council of Captains, but he wanted to stay with his nephew until he was forced to leave. He wanted to be there when he woke up.

For now, his skin was still a sickly pale color and his breathing was still much labored. It wasn't very likely that he would wake before Imrahil left for the Last Battle. Imrahil was loath to leave his nephew to come-to alone. He didn't even know if he wasn't going to live through the battle. His own sons shared the same possible fate. Faramir had already lost his mother, brother, and now father. It would break his heart to lose his uncle and cousins, too. That would leave him with only Lothíriel, Imrahil's daughter.

Imrahil held his breath as Faramir turned his head slightly. He gave a small moan, and then fell silent once more. Imrahil let out his breath. His nephew wasn't going to wake today, but he felt as if Faramir could feel his uncle's presence, and so Imrahil stayed where he was.

Imrahil mounted his grey charger, Cloudtide, and rode over to Aragorn's side. Imrahil noted with relief that the man looked much better than he did two days ago. It seemed that a little rest and a few full meals could do wonders.

As they rode off towards the Black Gate of Mordor, Imrahil felt a shadow set itself over his heart.

Faramir saw a small light ahead. He smiled. He was going back. He was going to live. This nightmare was drawing to a close. This endless wandering through dark clouds and no moon to see by. The constant reliving of the worst moments of his life. His father's wrath; the shrill cry of the Nazgûsl-lord; the terror of living through the retreat again; the slow, painful visions that came to him when they were least wanted. No trees to provide comforting presences of security. No night sounds to tell you that some living things could still lead a normal life.

The light grew brighter and filled him with hope. A hope that all would be right again, that this war would end. It filled his vision now and was still growing. His eyes saw colors, no more endless darkness. Faramir started to move towards it, each step lighter than the first. He reached out his hands to embrace it, to embrace his fate. The light flashed and he became blinded for a moment and then started to come out of his unconscious state…

For a moment, all was dark and Faramir wondered if he was now blind or if he was still in his living nightmare. But, slowly, the world started to appear. First they were blurred outlines, then they took shape, and then color returned to the objects around him. He tried to turn his head to figure out where he was, but a sudden dizziness shot through him and his head pounded. Faramir closed his eyes against the pounding in his head and waited for the pain to subside and then opened his eyes again slowly.

This time the dizziness didn't come. This time he could turn his head slowly and look around the room he was in. He was in the Houses of Healing. Why? Flashes of a battle went through his head. _A charge. A hopeless cause. Pain._ Faramir winced as his chest burned with the memory. There was an arrow. He remembered that now. He had failed. He flinched at the memory of his father's last words to him before he rode out on a suicide mission. A suicide mission he had survived. How? More flashes went across his eyes. _A man with piercing grey eyes and a commanding voice. His King. His _family!_ Love brought him back. The King again. A light. Life. His life.._ Faramir opened his eyes. His breathing was quick. He looked around but no one was in the room. He shuddered. He was alone. Maybe he wasn't alive. Maybe he was still dead, or in the land in-between.

But just then, the door clicked open and a woman walked in carrying a tray with different medicinal concoctions on it. The woman looked over at him and, realizing that he was awake, immediately smiled.

"My Lord Faramir. You are awake at last! The Warden will be glad to hear of it." She poured one of the concoctions into a cup and fed it to him. Faramir sniffed it first, as the Healers were prone to giving him sleeping potions. As far as he could tell, there wasn't anything in it besides the normal spices and herbs.

Faramir's hands couldn't hold the cup on his own. The woman had to hold it for him and pour it into his mouth. Once he had drunk it all, he steeled himself for the assumed agony of speaking.

"Where is the King?" His throat was scratchy and his voice was hoarse, but it wasn't the pain he had expected.

"He is riding to the Black Gates, my Lord," the woman answered. "The Lord Imrahil, Éomer King, and the Rangers of the North ride with him. They ride to war. No one believes that they will return. 'Tis amazing that one who can wield a sword can also have the hand of a Healer."

Faramir nodded. He had expected as much. He feared for his Uncle, though, as he was the last of his family still alive. He had lost his mother to illness, his brother to fate, and his father to madness. Would he lose his uncle to war?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own it. 

A/N: I still don't have a beta, so I am still trying to find one. I still need loads of constructive criticism, but please be nice. This will all be in Éowyn's POV.

Éowyn walked up to the Warden of the Houses of Healing. She slammed her good hand down on top of his papers. He looked up, startled, and knit his brow in worry.

"I wish to be released form this place so that I may ride to the Captains and war. I honor your work and mean no disrespect but I do not desire to be healed. I only wish to be let out." Éowyn paused. "I only wish to have an honorable death."

The Warden sighed. "I was told to treat you with especial care and to keep you here for at least ten days. I will not go against that. But, if you can get the Steward's permission, I will allow you to walk around the Houses and not be confined to your room."

Éowyn hesitated. Perhaps she could persuade the Steward of Gondor to order the Warden to let her go. She nodded. "Where can I find the Steward?"

The Warden seemed to visibly relax. "He resides in these Houses for the time being. He should be in room 118. Down the hall and to your right."

Éowyn walked off down the hall, wondering what the Steward of Gondor would be like. She assumed he would be aloof and self-centered and that he was only in here because he was spoiled and wanted to have the best Healers in the city. He would also most likely be old and grumpy. She probably would not like him at all. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. And yet, he was her only hope of getting out of here.

She knocked on the door of room 118.

"Come in." Éowyn blinked in surprise as she heard the young and kind but weary voice. It was a voice that was not yet used to command, which confused her. Even if he were just given the Stewardship, wouldn't he not already have prepared for this? She opened the door cautiously, not knowing anymore what to expect.

A young man with shoulder-length, raven-black hair stood by the small table at the side of the bed. His left hand was on top of the table, holding his weight, as if he couldn't stand up on his own. His shirt was unbuttoned enough to show a bandage around his right shoulder. A bandage that was just beginning to stain. His right arm was in a sling and his pale face just barely hid the pain he felt at moving around. Éowyn realized that he had more need to be in here than she did. He lifted his face to meet hers. His clear, grey eyes betrayed his surprise at seeing her. He straightened himself a little before he spoke.

"What would the Shieldmaiden of the North, slayer of the Witch-king of Angmar, want with a Captain of Gondor, and a wounded one at that?" he inquired. He didn't sound mocking, or angry. Just curious.

"They said you were the Steward of Gondor. Is this a lie?"

The man's mouth twitched for a moment as if he was going to smile, but his eyes showed a flash of pain before disappearing again. "So they say." He now seemed a little melancholic, but also somewhat amused. "I am not sure I believe it, though. It's a bit hard to grasp."

Éowyn was confused again. Surely this man would have been trained to be Steward from the day he was born? Her curiosity took hold of her mind and mouth and she forgot her initial mission for a while. "Were you not going to acquire the Stewardship at some point anyway? Have you not prepared yourself for this your entire life?"

The man shook his head slightly. "I was the second son. My brother died in the war, not six months ago. Since, all I have been doing is fighting. There was no time to get used to the idea. And now it is thrown upon me in the middle of a war I am not part of. I have no real authority yet, but I shall do what I can for you."

Éowyn, although humbled a bit by his words, knew what she wanted. "I wish you to order the Warden to let me go."

The man was surprised. Again his eyes had betrayed him. "I would not contradict an order made by the King, especially when it is most likely for your own good. Why do you wish to leave?"

Now Éowyn was a little annoyed. "He is not King yet. And I do not desire to be healed. I only wish for an honorable death in battle and no one seems to wish to give me that, not even Fate."

The man let out a small sigh. "He is King to the people of Gondor. And it seems we are of like mind when it comes to being healed. I, too, am held here against my will. Only the fact that the King will have gone through so much all for nothing keeps me from taking a cutting knife and stabbing myself through the heart." His face showed no emotion but his voice said everything.

But Éowyn was still confused. "I thought you would not contradict an order from your King."

"That does not mean I have to agree with his order. I will do what he says, but that won't always necessarily mean I think what he says is right."

Éowyn found herself liking this man. He seemed to understand her need to get out of this place. She took a deep breath. "Then I ask that you allow me to leave the confines of my room and walk around the Houses and its gardens. My room feels like a prison and there is not enough room to walk around as I would like."

The man nodded. "That I can do." Éowyn thought she caught a trace of pain and great sadness flicker across his eyes, but it was gone as swiftly as it had come. She nodded her head and began to walk out of the room, but she remembered something. She turned back and he looked up with barely contained interest concealed in his eyes.

"I have just realized that I do not know your name, Captain of Gondor." Éowyn thought she saw his mouth twitch again in an expression of mirth.

"My name is Faramir. And although I know who you are, I fear no one has bothered to tell me your name."

Éowyn smiled. She had found a friend. "I am Éowyn. Do you think that you would perhaps walk 'round the gardens with me in my new-found freedom?"

"Alas, I cannot command my own freedom as I can yours. While I would find immense pleasure in walking with you, Éowyn of Rohan, I fear it would not be permitted."

"Then I shall come to you at the beginning and end of each day to converse with you, Faramir of Gondor."

Faramir nodded his head and Éowyn walked out of his room with a small smile on her face.

The next day, Éowyn walked down the hall and knocked on the door of room 118. Again the kind, inexperienced voice told her to come in. But this time, Faramir was in his bed, writing. He scratched a few more words before looking up at her. He seemed pleased to see her, but Éowyn had learned yesterday that he was very good at disguising his emotions. He didn't smile at all, and Éowyn felt it her duty to see if she could persuade him to. His understanding of how she felt had caused the dark shadow over her heart to lift. A soft light had shone down and she had seen that she could go on living, that there was more to life than war and death. She now had something to live for, someone who needed her help. She was no Healer, but she would try to help this man who seemed so sullen and cold.

"I wasn't sure if you would come." The quiet voice broke her from her reverie.

"A Lady of Rohan never goes back on her word. Surely you know this? We are not a barbaric people." Éowyn said this with a smile on her face, but it seemed the young Steward thought she was angry.

"I am sorry," he said hurriedly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just…" He trailed off, looking very uncomfortable but trying vainly to hide it.

"I wasn't angry at you. What were you going to say?" she inquired.

He shook his head. "It was nothing. Forget about it." He bowed his head and wouldn't look at her.

Éowyn frowned. "I don't think it was nothing. Please, tell me. I can be trusted." She sat down on the side of Faramir's bed and waited for him to tell her what disturbed him so much.

Faramir seemed somewhat frightened now. "I did not mean to offend your honesty!"

"And I did not accuse you of such. What wrong has been done to you that you interpret everything I say as an accusation?" Faramir opened his mouth, then closed it again. Éowyn clasped his hand warmly in reassurance.

"It is in the past. It is best to put such things behind us."

Éowyn frowned. "Some wounds never really heal. Some wounds are best treated if bled."

"And some will heal on their own if left alone!" Faramir didn't seem to want to get angry with her, but he didn't like what she was doing.

Éowyn's Rohirric temper was starting to emerge. "The memories of wounds inflicted upon you are casting a shadow over your heart! You must let it go! If you let it be you will die of despair. Just let it out! You need not fear showing your grief in front of me. I only wish to help you! Do not drown yourself in memories of an unpleasant past! Talk to me.'

Faramir looked at her in surprise. It seemed her outburst had been completely unexpected. His mouth was slightly agape but he quickly closed it again and blushed faintly. From what others had told her, she knew that her blue-grey eyes would be on fire and her golden hair slightly bristling. It was a look that had served to send away many of her suitors. Perhaps it would serve to get Faramir to speak.

"I lived my life full of accusations," he sighed. "It is merely a natural habit to see hidden accusations, as the one who did it the most was always in front of people and would not say an actual insult in public. I trained myself to hear them and now I guess I hear them everywhere." Faramir's sad, grey eyes looked up at her expectantly.

Éowyn didn't know how anyone could accuse him of anything, even if he was cold and despairing. He was only like that because he had been mistreated, Éowyn was sure. "Who was it? Who was he that would constantly degrade you?" she knew that she wouldn't like whoever it was.

"It is no matter. He is dead," Faramir replied.

"I should still like to know who he was," Éowyn persisted. When he did not answer, she added, "But if you will not tell me who he is, how then did he die? That at least should satiate my curiosity."

Faramir sighed. "No one will tell me. They seem to think I will crumble if I know how he died. I know not why. Should I not have the right to know how I became Steward?" he cried. He suddenly inhaled sharply once he realized what he said.

Éowyn smiled triumphantly, then it faded to a frown as everything clicked together. "Your father?" she whispered. "You father would constantly accuse you of things?" Faramir didn't answer. He turned his face away from hers. Éowyn had dropped her eyes. She had expected a Council member or a training master. But to have your own father accuse you endlessly in front of other people, no matter how hidden, must have put a great dent in his confidence. It explained why he wouldn't trust her as well as why he heard accusations everywhere.

"I'm sorry. I should not have asked." Éowyn said. She unclasped her fingers from his.

Faramir shook his head. "No. It was good to get rid of the burden. It was weighing me down." He looked up at her. He didn't smile but his eyes had less of a shadow about them. "I thank you."

Éowyn nodded. She got up from the bed. "I will return in the evening." Faramir picked up his pen again. Éowyn walked out of the room just as one of the assistant-Healers came in, laden with a food tray. She smiled again as an idea to help her desolate friend and went to find the Warden of the Houses of Healing.

Éowyn walked up to the desk of the Warden and sat down in a chair opposite him. The Warden put down his pen and folded his hands over his papers. He smiled at her.

"You said you had a favor to ask of me? Some information?"

Éowyn nodded. "I wish to know how Faramir became Steward. I wish to know how his father died." She tried to make her inquiries seem innocent, but the Warden's warm smile disappeared, replaced with a worried frown.

"Why do you ask?"

Éowyn smiled. "I am merely curious. He seems so young, and his father must have had a valiant death in battle for him to ascend at his age. It must be quite the story. I have always liked battle-stories, ever since I was a child."

The Warden did not seem moved. "The Lord Denethor did not die in battle. His death is not a story that is told 'round a fire to little children. I mean to keep it quiet as it could quite upset the Lord Faramir."

Éowyn was confused. It was becoming an uncomfortably familiar feeling. "Isn't death just a part of life? Why would knowing the cause of his father's death upset him?

The Warden sighed. "The Lord Denethor did not die an honorable death. He died as he lived – rashly and in madness. It was not a story I liked hearing, no matter how much I disliked the man, and will not be a story I like telling."

Éowyn felt a surge of triumph.

"I will not tell it here, though. I don't want people to overhear. Do you mind if we use your room? No one will bother us there."

Éowyn nodded. "I do not mind at all." The Warden nodded and got up from his chair.

Éowyn sat down on a chair in the room, making sure she was comfortable as she wasn't sure how long this would take. The Warden settled himself on another of the chairs and took a deep breath before beginning to speak.

"First you must understand the relationship between the late Lord Denethor and his sons. Boromir was always the Golden Child, the Steward's heir, Gondor's finest, Captain of the Guard; in short, everything his father was not. Faramir, on the other hand, was merely second. He was smaller, weaker, and more of a scholar than a soldier. He, of the two of them, carried on the Númenorean lineage. He had also acquired his mother's Elven grace. His father would look at him and see his wife, and wondered why this child had lived when she had not. But Faramir had many of his father's qualities too; he just chose to use them in different ways. How could Denethor love in his child what he hated in himself? Faramir is very much both of his parents.

"And so, Denethor would be cross with him. He could never be pleased with Faramir, for how could he, when everything he did would either resemble his dead wife, or the part of himself he so hated? Denethor would act cruelly towards his younger son, and continually dote on his eldest.

"But Faramir and his brother, however different, were always close. Boromir would console his little brother if he heard one of their fights. He would protect him from their father's wrath. He had to try to be both mother and father to Faramir, for he had lost them both.

"And then, Faramir had a vision, another gift he inherited from his father. He never said anything to anyone, but Boromir had it, too. Boromir went straight to his father and asked permission to set out for Rivendell, home of the Elves. Of course, Denethor gave him permission, and nigh six months ago, Faramir had a vision of his brother. He was floating down the River Anduin in an Elven-boat…dead. The Lord Faramir was much distraught to lose his beloved brother. Boromir had been there to comfort Faramir, whether in person or on paper.

"Denethor treated his youngest a little better in some ways and a little worse in others. In private I think his life grew worse, but there were not so many public insults. Now that Faramir was Denethor's sole heir, he got a great many more responsibilities, more than Boromir ever had. For now, he had to do the work of two instead of one.

"Faramir could not hold Osgiliath against the armies of Mordor. He had to retreat across the Pelennor with three men. They only made it due to Mithrandir intervening on their behalf. The Nazgûl had caught them unawares and they almost didn't make it.

"The Lord Denethor was not pleased, though. I have reason to believe that he whipped Faramir. Boromir was able to hold Osgiliath when he was Captain, but he had had more men and something to return to. Denethor just could see no good in his son.

"Faramir was sent back to Osgiliath. It was a suicide mission, though. They had too few men. The orcs and Haradrim together outnumbered them almost five to one. It was terrible. Faramir rode out with no hope of ever returning. He sought death on that field. He sought to escape his life, this endless war.

"He was hit down by a Southron arrow. Many deemed him dead. The Lord Imrahil brought him back from the field before the orcs could hew him to pieces. Denethor believed him dead, or unable to be saved. For two days, he stayed by Faramir's side, talking to him, wiping his face with cold water, soothing him. Denethor learned the lesson, 'You don't know what you have until you've lost it' the hard way.

"Finally he took Faramir down to the Silent Street and into the Hall of the Stewards. He ordered a bonfire be lit and that he and Faramir be burned. The Halfling Peregrin brought Mithrandir in the nick of time, though, and they were able to save Faramir. But the Lord Denethor lit the fire and laid himself down on the fire. So Faramir was brought here, and it seemed nothing could revive him. That was when the Lord Aragorn came and brought him back."

Éowyn was silent. This was certainly not what she had expected. A grave illness or assassination, possibly. But this… this was just… Éowyn didn't know how to describe it. No wonder they had not told Faramir! But she had sworn, not to Faramir of course, but to herself that she would find out what had happened to Faramir's father and tell him. Well, now she knew, she wasn't sure if she should tell him.

"My Lady?" the Warden was looking at her worriedly.

"That is quite a tale. I can see why you would not want to tell Faramir but," Éowyn paused, "don't you think he deserves to know?" She had made a promise and intended to keep it.

"I would spare him the agony of hearing his father tried to burn him alive!"

"The fact was that this father was doing it out of love for him. That in itself would take away most of the pain as that love has been concealed for most of his life!" Éowyn protested. "I think that knowing how his father died is the least he deserves! He should know."

The Warden sighed. "You may tell him if you wish. I have no desire to tell that story again! Once was enough." He got up and gave her a nod before leaving to do his duties.

Éowyn stayed in her room for just a minute, giving herself a moment to digest all of the information she had just been given. After ten minutes of mulling things over, she left to walk around the gardens.

For the second time that day, Éowyn returned to Faramir's room. His soft voice bid her come in.

She walked in cautiously. Faramir was standing up and was holding himself up by leaning on the wall. His eyes were closed and his hands were clenched at his side. His skin was pale and his face was drawn. He was trembling from the effort of staying up for so long. Éowyn had hoped to find Faramir calm and not in pain, most preferably in his bed. But she would just have to get him to that state on her own.

She moved to support his weight and helped him to the bed. He opened his eyes and gasped as his wounds were twinged. She carefully maneuvered him onto the bed and she let him support his back on the backboard of the bed. He let his head fall back for a moment so he could catch his breath. Éowyn sat herself down on a chair right next to the bed. Faramir's breathing was stronger now and he seemed to be asleep. But then he opened his eyes and looked at her. Although his mouth didn't move, his eyes seemed to smile at her.

She took a deep breath. "I found out what happened to your father." All smile left his eyes and he looked at her with such longing in his eyes that Éowyn had to look away.

"What happened? How did he die?"

And so Éowyn told the entire story. She told of how his father had taken care of him and had loved him while he lay dying. She told of how his father had tried to give him an easy death through fire but ended up being saved by Mithrandir and Pippin in the end, although his father had thrown himself into the flames.

Éowyn hadn't been able to look him in the eye during the tale, but now that it was over, she wanted to see his reaction. She blinked in surprise as she saw tears flow freely down his pale cheeks. She got up from her chair and sat down beside him, putting one arm around his shoulders and wiping away his tears with her other hand. He put his head on her shoulder and she ceased wiping his face and began to stroke his hair. She was fascinated with it. In Rohan, everybody had blonde hair, or at the most a light brown. This raven-black was a mystery to her and she began to play with it, twirling it with her fingers, against her better judgment. To her astonishment, he made no protest.

After a few moments, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and lifted his head from her shoulder. Éowyn brought her hands away from his hair, but he shook he shook his head. "Don't," he whispered. His voice was hoarse and came out as a croak. She smiled softly and put her arms back around his lithe body. She began to stroke his hair again and sang a Rohirric lullaby. Faramir's breathing got deeper and to Éowyn's amazement, fell asleep. She gently laid him down on the bed and made sure he was covered with the blankets.

She glanced back at him as she closed his door behind her and she was elated to see a small smile upon his face.

Éowyn woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. She remembered the events of last night and grinned to herself. She had gotten him to smile.


	3. Chapter 3

I own nothing at all.

A/N: First, I would like to thank my beta CalenlassGreenleaf most graciously for her enormous help in this entire story. Second, there is a flashback in this story, and it will be in _italics_. The flashback is going to be very closely related to the book as will some of the later things, but as always, the roles will be reversed. I would also like to thank Alicia and Emily for giving me the support I needed to keep going. Enjoy!

After that day, Éowyn spent more and more time with Faramir. His body was slowly but steadily getting stronger, and by the time they had met for three days, he was given permission to walk out in the gardens with her. He was learning to confide in her and Éowyn could see that he was starting to discover that she wouldn't hurt him, physically or mentally. He was beginning to see that she wouldn't deceive him and hurt him at the last moment. Faramir spoke of his past to her, and he also spoke fleetingly of what his dreams of for his future.

Éowyn, herself, was become conscious of a fluttering in her chest every time she walked to his room. When he spoke of the future she would always listen for any hint of a wife or lover. She would nearly swoon every time she was able to touch him. She was falling in love. And she accepted it full willingly. The question in her mind was if he felt the same, or could.

_What would a man who had never been shown any kindness see in a woman whose heart is as cold as ice? What reason does he have to love me?_ She knew that he didn't like being a soldier, but Éowyn loved the glory of battle. She loved the rush of energy that came when she picked up a sword to defend her country. Faramir would be more suited towards scholarly pursuits. He would make a wonderful Steward. It wasn't that he was a bad swordsman, in fact, he was a man that no Rider could outmatch, but he just didn't like killing other living beings. It wasn't in his nature. He was a quiet man, someone who flourished in times of peace. She was someone who would fight for peace, and would keep fighting even when there was nothing to fight because she treasured the feel of a sword in her hand. What chance could they have?

Although, just seven days after she had awoken to see the King bending over her in the Houses of Healing, Éowyn's wishes were given a chance. She and Faramir had been out in the gardens, looking east towards the Black Gate of Mordor.

"_What do you look for, my lord?"_

_Faramir sighed. "Does not the Black Gate lie yonder? And is that not where all our hopes now lie? It is now seven days since they rode out."_

"_Seven days," Éowyn said. "But don't look on me with scorn if I say that these days have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know. Joy to know you and pain because the fear and doubt of these dark times have grown in vast amounts. I would not have the ending of the world come so soon, nor lose so soon what I have found."_

_Faramir looked upon her with an unreadable expression. "Lose what you have found, my lady? I don't know what you could have found in these dark times that you could fear to lose, but let us not speak of such. I stand upon a threshold of shadow and I can see no light behind or beyond me. A dark wave threatens to devour the lands I stand on. It comes ever closer, like darkness unescapable. Even if the light were there, the darkness holds me captive and I cannot turn towards it. I wait for some stroke of doom." _

"_Yes, we wait for the stroke of doom," Éowyn whispered. They spoke no more, and yet it seemed to them that as they stood there upon the wall, the wind died and the light faded and all sounds in the City or the lands surrounding it were gone. Time halted._

_As they stood thus, their hands met and clasped, though they did not know it. Then, it seemed that above the mountains a great darkness rose, towering up like a great wave and about it lightning shimmered. A tremor ran through the earth. A sigh went up from the lands about them and their hearts suddenly beat again._

"_Is this like what you see in your dream?" Éowyn asked, and wondered to hear herself speak._

"_Yes. It reminds me of Númenor, of the land of Westernesse that had foundered, and the great wave that climbed over the hills and lands. I often dream of it." His voice was hushed; he almost feared to speak and dare ruin their shared dream._

"_Then you believe that the Darkness is coming? Darkness unescapable?" She shivered slightly and drew closer to him. He didn't pull away._

"_I don't know. It was but a picture in the mind and yet I see it coming over yonder mountains and so I don't know what I believe."_

_Éowyn looked up at him. "My mind tells me that we stand at the end of days and yet my heart tells me that there is still hope and that there is still joy to be found that no reason can deny. Faramir, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!" _

_Faramir looked at her and a small smile crossed his face as he bent to kiss her brow. A thrill went through her body, and Éowyn felt a sudden elation. She had no inclination to ruin this moment of peace between them, so she stayed quiet but drew a little closer to him._

_As so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, a wind arose and their hair, raven and golden, streamed out, mingled in the air. The Shadow departed and the sun shone down once more and in the City all of the people sang of the joy in their hearts. And before the sun had fallen completely below the horizon a great Eagle came out from the East, and he bore tidings of the Lords of the West:_

'_Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,_

_for the Real of Sauron is ended for ever,_

_and the Dark Tower is thrown down._

_Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,_

_for your watch hath not been in vain,_

_and the Black Gate is broken,_

_and your King hath passed through,_

_and he is victorious._

_Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,_

_for your King shall come again, _

_and he shall dwell among you_

_all the days of your life._

_And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,_

_and he shall plant it in the high places,_

_and the City shall be blessed._

_Sing all ye people!_

_And the people sang in all the ways of the City._

The days that followed were golden, and the lands flourished in the fields of Gondor. Tidings came from Cair Andros that the War of the Ring was over and that the City must make ready for the coming of the King. Merry was summoned and he rode away with the carts that took goods to Osgiliath, and from there, they took ships to ships to Cair Andros.

But Faramir did not go, for he was the Steward and had to do his duty to prepare the City for the King. However, he was not fully healed, but he was allowed out more and more often, so long as it was not for too long and that he was accompanied by another who could bring him back to the Houses if he overworked himself.

And Éowyn did not go, although her brother sent word from Cair Andros begging for her to join him on the field of Cormallen. She longed to see her brother, but she still wished to help the desolate Steward of Gondor and was more often than not the one who would go along with him on his excursions outside the houses. She, herself, was healing quite quickly and the Warden soon released her from his charge. And yet, now that she had leave to depart, she wanted to remain there and learn the art of healing, for the Houses had become to her the most blessed of all dwellings.

She soon learned that Faramir seemed to be in habit of working himself to the limit. He would never seem to notice if his breath came in short gasps, or he stumbled a bit while walking to a certain location, or if his vision would grow slightly dizzy, or if his wound started to bleed. And he would become quite stubborn about leaving to go back to the Houses, as he wished to get as much done as possible in his short time as Ruling Steward. She had to pester him for hours to get him to agree to go back to the Houses of Healing.

At one point, while Faramir was out inspecting a construction site, she was back at the Houses learning a little more of the healing arts. He had been escorted by a man named Alagos, and Éowyn had deemed him safe. That was until Alagos ran up to the Houses to tell her that the Lord Faramir had fallen ill at the construction site and was in need of her Ladyship.

Éowyn followed him to the site and immediately saw Faramir leaning against a pillar with two servants bringing him water. He could not hold it himself, so the servants had to pour it into his mouth. Éowyn ran over to him and took the cup from the servants. His eyes were dilated and sweat was running down his cheeks. She put his arm over her shoulders and did likewise with her own arm. She walked him to the Houses and sat him down on a bed.

"You should not have worked yourself so hard. You know you are not yet completely healed. Gondor would not want her favorite son to kill himself for her sake." She spoke sternly but with kindness. Nevertheless, her last words seemed to be the wrong ones, as he got just a little paler. Éowyn sighed as she remembered that Denethor had imprinted the theory, in _both_ of his sons' heads, that to die for the sake of your country was honorable, and it was. It was just the way that he went about it that made it wrong.

"Either way, you should have taken a break at some point much earlier. _I_ would not want you dead either? Do you care so little for yourself? For me?"

Faramir looked long and steadily at her. "I was taught from birth not to care for my own life, so long as it was given honorably. But I do not intentionally try to overtax myself. It is second nature for all men of Gondor to work to the limit." He sighed. "Why do you not go to Cormallen where your brother awaits you?"

Éowyn started at the sudden change of topic. "Do you not know?" she said simply.

Faramir merely raised one eyebrow. "Normally, I love riddles but now I am not in the mood. Speak plainer, Éowyn."

"If you will have it so," she said. "I do not go because you do not go and I will not leave you alone while you cannot care for yourself. I also wish to learn more of the healing arts for as long as I am able, as Éomer will wish to take me home to Rohan when he returns."

"I desire no one's pity, my lady," Faramir said.

"That I know. You desired the love of your father, who could do nothing but see what you were not. Yet when he showed you that he had no love for you wished to have honor and glory by riding out to war. Look at me, Faramir!"

And Faramir looked at her, being unable to resist her call. "Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Faramir! I know what you went through. I did the same thing with the Lord Aragorn. But I have learned that my love for him was nothing more than a love for his future, his image. I do not offer you my pity, though! I offer you my love. You have yourself won the love and goodwill of your people and will be renowned for your loyalty and faith. You showed me that there are more things on Middle-earth than deceivers and disloyal subjects. You showed me that there is a light to the darkness that infiltrated this world. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow but now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, still I would love you. Faramir, do you not love me?"

Then the heart of Faramir changed, or at last he understood it. And suddenly the warmth of her love thawed the cold that had sheltered his heart for so long.

"I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun," he whispered, "and behold! the Winter has departed! I see a lady beautiful and valiant, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I say to her, 'I love you. I love you, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan.'"

Then Éowyn laughed merrily and said, "That is well, for now we are of one mind. And I will wed with the Steward of Gondor, if it be his will. And if he will, let us live across the River to dwell in Ithilien and make a garden of great beauty. For I have heard that the Land of the Moon is indeed fair to behold."

"Then would you leave your own people, Shieldmaiden of Rohan?" Faramir asked.

"I would," she answered. And she took Faramir in her arms and kissed him under the sunlit sky, and neither of them cared that they stood high upon the walls of Minas Tirith in the sight of many. And many indeed saw them and the light that shone about them as they came down from the walls and went hand in hand to the Houses of Healing.


End file.
